DRAGO’S POWER HOUR MIXTAPE.

There were flashing lights, pulsating music and an iridescent red glow all over the room – if you guessed Saturday night at Tech Noir, good guess…but wrong.

I was inside the training facility for the Siberian Bullet himself, IVAN DRAGO.

For a brief period in the eighties, your Uncle TNUC was working deep cover for the World Anti-Doping Agency in an attempt to bust the infamous soviet fighter for juicing. For the record, I’m not against steroids, they make baseball great and keep these guns at massive pumpage (don’t be a narc).

Anyways, I agreed to chase Drago not for ethical reasons but because I hate the thought of some smug commie putting the hurt on our American boys. I had infiltrated his gym-meets-shuttle launch facility and was able to witness the most unholy bond of highly advanced workout technologies and sheer robotic drive to be the best.

As I strolled throughout the facility in a lab coat hoping to blend in, I saw computer interfaces with metrics and formulas I didn’t understand, much of it in Russian. I didn’t care about that however, I was looking for the dope.

A large brick satellite phone rang on a nearby table and was answered by one of Drago’s lackeys. After a brief, frantic conversation the man walked over to the boombox I stood next to and paused the music, glaring at me. He then approached Drago who took the phone and spoke momentarily before making direct eye contact.

Drago screamed in Russian, and the whole room sprang to action. I picked up the stereo and hit the closest man with it, then ran. I dashed for the exit, using the boombox as a weapon, battering henchmen’s faces left and right. Drago’s screaming echoed louder and louder as I hit the fire escape with a horde of clumsy Russians behind me. I made it out, and disappeared in to the night.

We never busted Drago, but I did get a souvenir, his favorite tape: DRAGO’S POWER HOUR MIX.

Every now and then when I want to experience the absolute apex of high-octane workout music, I put the tape on and go to war with the weights. It may be hidden in a shitty old Maxell cassette, but every track is pure drive – coursing through my bloodstream like so many performance enhancers during the glory days.

I loaded it here for you disciples – use it to get jacked and rise to the highest levels of performance like Ivan Drago. When you’re looking shredded months from now, swimming in babes under a warm California sun, remember what got you there: DRAGO’S POWER HOUR MIX.